


Suicide Pact

by PurpleMoon3



Series: Bite Sized Bits of Fic [14]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Baby Names are Serious Business, Connor & Methos are beer bros, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Immortals, Spoilers: Changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:04:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: From now on Methos swears to always give the deceased newborn who's identity he adopts a thorough background check.  All relatives must be dead, even the estranged halvies, and if either parent has the slightest connection to his world that is an automatic disqualifier.  Life is much simpler when he can leave the hero-ing to Macleod, even if using 'wizard' as an excuse for his non-aging is terribly convenient.





	Suicide Pact

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for: [Any, any, I'll help you with this if you help me with that.](https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/862078.html?thread=105583486#t105583486)

Methos never hears the report, but he does feel the passage of the bullet as the high caliber round shreads the cotton of his shirt like tissue paper and smashes through his ribcage. His coat, enchanted as it was, could have probably blocked the actual penetration but the force behind the bullet would have shattered his spine and left him slowly choking on his own blood. Better that the shooter have a clear shot and Methos the less dragging pain of a through-and-through.  
  
Methos lists to the side as his blood pressure bottoms out from lack of heart, and stares in false confusion at the glistening red deck. His hands grasp reflexively -for his sword, for his staff, for any weapon at all- and come in contact with the battered leather of his duster where he left it dangling on the side of the _Water Beetle_. The material slides under his grip and he slides with it, tipping over the rail of the boat and into the choppy waters of Lake Michigan.  
  
The cold water fills his broken chest, numbing pain, even as the unnatural cold of his (former) Queen flee's upon completion of their contract. Methos' awareness drifts along with his body, and when he slips into the dark it isn't solely his distance from the lake surface that causes it. It is a good thing heroes die, Methos thinks, because that shit is exhausting.  
  
Eventually, though, he comes to spitting water and fighting off the hands that are dragging him from the drink. His head is pounding and it takes him a moment to recognize the buzz for what it is, and the shadowy form looming over him for what he is. Methos wipes the water from his eyes and grunts a greeting.  
  
"Is that anyway to repay a man who did you a favor?" Connor Macleod huffs, stepping back and breathing heat into his clammy hands.  
  
"I didn't actually think you would do it! At least not like that." Reviving underwater was a tricky business and repeated drownings always put him in a bad mood. Methos stripped off his ruined shirt and tossed it behind him, back in the water. "Marcone is going to flip his shit when he realizes-"  
  
"Your crime boss is in Italy, and _I'm_ not the one who couldn't manage to die even against a whole vampire army." Connor scowled as he said the last few words, mocking distaste layered in every syllable. The Headhunter would have been good backup at the pyramid, but then the point of pretending to believe Susan's desperate Hail-Mary claim had been to die. Life as Harry Dresden had been getting increasingly uncomfortable the past few years, even worse than when he'd had Morgan following him around with sword at the ready, and so it was only prudent that he put the name to bed.  
  
"But then," Connor continued. "I would expect nothing less from Death Incarnate."  
  
Methos palmed his face and groaned as they made their way through scrub and brush. Did Duncan not understand discretion? But then, he was the only Immortal to give his own damn name out often enough to have his movements tracked by historical romance authors.  
  
Connor was wearing his customary sneakers -though now mud stained- tanned trench coat, and a sly smirk that Methos recognized from many a bar crawl. Rarely, however, had it been directed at him. "What? Don't tell me you actually want me to pay you the assassination fee!"  
  
"Of course not." Connor's smirk was still in place. "You're still walking around, aren't you? Any of my other clients would demand a refund. No, I was thinking of something a little more... subtle. How good are your illusions?"  
  
"Better than they were, why?"

"Duncan's gotten himself in a rut. I know he's got the skill to beat Kell, but he's been second-guessing himself since Ahriman." They reached the car, a rental by the looks of it, and Methos shrugged into a blessedly warm sweater bearing unfortunate pom-poms and reindeer. "If he thinks he's taken my head, my quickening, that might put him back on track."  
  
They got in the car and slammed the doors. Methos turned in his seat to face Connor. "Alright, but if we do this, we do it my way. Duncan's killed... a lot of friends that past decade or so, murdering his mentor might hurt more than help."  
  
The smirk slid off Connor's face as he turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life with a series of coughs, and the icy blue glare the highlander shot him reminded Methos to reel in his quickening aura before he blew the engine. After almost two decades of habitually expanding his buzz range to mimic a mortal wizard's field it was going to take him a while to stop.  
  
They trundled down a beaten dirt road and Connor sighed. "I know, but right now Kell is just playing with him. If he doesn't get his head back in the game soon... he's going to lose it."

**Author's Note:**

> As far as story logic goes, until they actually start using their quickening to revive/heal Immortals register as regular old humans. And Methos is a method actor. Too bad the name he picked for his next identity had more baggage than any newborn should have, and people kept insisting on soul-gazing with a once horseman. Here there be Immortals...


End file.
